


Awake

by Blue_xO



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: 2-Shot, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:41:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24903250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_xO/pseuds/Blue_xO
Summary: And maybe that's why I lowered myself so close to his sleeping, perfect face, let myself inhale the same air as him and almost bite his lip.Almost.Because inches from my goal, blue eyes, those fucking blue eyes, opened."I'm awake, Baz,’’ Snow whispered.2-Shot.
Relationships: Baz and simonnnnnnn ofc, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 1
Kudos: 82





	Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there,
> 
> This is a 2 part story that I wrote I think about two years ago on fan fiction.net but I decided that I may as well post it here. Fixed it up a little, gave it a polishing and this is what you have to read. Do enjoy.
> 
> Side note I suppose to promote my current story in progress; perhaps take a trip over to read my Me Before You fic when finished reading this for some more SnowBaz goodness? 
> 
> Go raibh míle maith agaibh/Thank you for reading and take care 💜

* * *

**BAZ**

Here's a situation.

Though, I'm still not very sure how, or why, I let it happen. Then again, at the same time, I am.

It's routine for me, every night, to lie awake and drink in the peaceful expression woven into Simon Snow’s features as he sleeps in a bed no more than two meters away from mine, memorise the moles on his face, marvel the wave his bronze curls tumble into across his pillow.

Only at night, when the moon shines through our window is his skin as pale as mine. Though his isn't as ghostly, as deathly. More angelic.

He tosses and turns in his sleep, mumbling and whimpering. Like me, he's plagued with night terrors. Like me, he often awakes in a cold sweat, heaving breath after breath, trying to figure if this is reality, or yet another part of the nightmare.

When the shock has passed, he leaves behind his overpowering smell of smoke (he always smells like smoke, but this smell is different, more ashier and panicked than his usual dark and calm smokey-green scent). I sometimes fear that his duvet will catch alight; one time he awoke so violently that he damn near went off.

I should comfort him.

I should do what a good roommate does; comfort the other in their times of need, settle them, whisper that everything is going to be OK, even when you know its not. Rock them back into their deep slumber, content and at ease.

I don't though.

Instead, I go about my business in the morning, sneering and growling at him like I always do, like I'm _supposed_ to do. I prod at him to the extent that he nearly does go off from pure annoyance, and I get a sick satisfaction when I push him to his breaking point. His smoky magick leaks everywhere, and I get drunk on it. I find myself wanting more of it.

I crave his magick more than blood. I crave Simon more than life.

I don't know how many nights at this stage I've spent lying awake watching him sleep. Since last year? Since first year? I find myself envying the stupid git for his ability to curl up into a fetal position and be fast asleep within seconds his head hits the pillow.

I, on the other hand, toss and turn for hours, my mind restless, my heart aching.

It's not exactly easy to fall asleep when the one you love is asleep no more than two meters away from you.

I could cover that distance in two steps.

I could.

And now, I fucking have.

I like to consider myself smart. I'm at the top of each of my classes after all; Bunce's fury that radiates from her as her efforts to beat me fail is something I relish in (not as much as I relish winding Snow up, so much that he comes right up to my face and spits his disgust. I don't care what he says, as long as those blue fucking eyes are focused on me.) (Crowley I need help.)

The predicament I've now found myself in proves otherwise. Right now, I'm the dumbest person alive. (Or undead, whatever.) (Fucking vampire body.)

I haven't fed in two days; Snow has been constantly on my case ever since I escaped the numpties and demanded that Fiona brought me back to Watford. No way was I going to let my grades slip, let Bunce take top of the class.

Therefore, my already pale face is now worse than deathly; the lack of feeding has stolen the colour from my cheeks. I'm tired, and hungry to be satisfied with something that food alone can't do.

Something that blood alone _can't_ do.

Maybe that's why Snow's bronze shoulders (also sprinkled with freckles like cinnamon was dusted on him and wasn't swept off) peaking over his comforter were so enticing.

Maybe that's why his stupid bronze curls looked more silkier than usual, daring me to run a pale hand through them.

Maybe that's why I slipped my socked feet out of bed onto our stone floor.

Maybe that's why I silently glided my way over to his bedside.

Maybe that's why I daringly placed a hand one side of him on the bed, let the other trace, without touching him, the moles on his face, like they were a constellation.

Maybe that's why his smoky scent, peaceful this time; the usual mossy-green, was so much heavier, thicker, so much easier to get drunk on.

And maybe that's why I lowered myself so close to his sleeping, perfect face, let myself inhale the same air as him and almost bite his lip.

Almost.

Because inches from my goal, blue eyes, those fucking blue eyes, opened.

"I'm awake, Baz,’’ Snow whispered.

I don't know how long I stood there, bent double and hovering over his now conscious body (or apparently _already_ conscious body), frozen like a dear caught unaware, staring into into those blue seas.

His eyes looked nothing like the sea, but I still found myself drowning in them. His lashes, now that I was this close to him, were short and chocolaty. His lips were pink and parted (mouth breather).

Finally, sense comes back to me like a slap to the face and I reeled back, so violently that I tripped and miraculously landed on my own bed.

My own stupid bed that I should've stayed in and never should have let my hunger remove me from it. Leave it to go hunting, alright, but the right type of hunting. Not hunting for Simon bloody Snow's lips.

So here I am, sitting ungracefully on my bed with my love gazing at me with clouded eyes. I can usually read them, but now I can't. They're overcast, and nothing is being betrayed by them.

I should say something snarky, I should say, "Your drool was disgusting me, Snow, I was trying to see if I could shut your trap once and for all."

I should. I _need_ to

But I don't.

Snow blinks, chocolate lashes fluttering. "Baz?" he whispers lowly, timidly, and somehow seductively. (His voice always sounds seductive to me.)

I clear my throat, willing for my lips to draw back into a sneer, willing for my cool, calm, collected persona to return, willing for my insults to rise to the back of my throat like I will fire to my fingers. But I can't. It's like he's casted **Cat got your tongue** , and I can't fucking _speak_.

And then I realize how _terrified_ I am.

I've let my guard down; he's seen me. Crowley, Snow may be thick, but he's not thick enough to not put two and two together, to understand what my intentions were.

Snow slowly rises from his bed, and I flinch. He notices, but he advances towards me anyway, his stupid blue eyes focused on me. Never blinking, never leaving.

And then he _sits_ on _my_ bed. The only thing he hasn't touched, the only thing he hasn't _taken_ from me. But he has now, like he has my heart, my mind, my voice.

He gazes into my eyes. It sounds sickeningly cliché, it’s disgusting, but he does. He swallows, and his Adam's Apple bobs in his throat; he has the longest swallow I've ever seen. That's where I'd like to kiss him. Or bite him.

Or both.

Snow's hand fingers for mine, and I gasp. I fucking gasp. I'm pathetic. But I'm also lost in his orbs, drowning in his seas, and I need him to do something before I _do_ actually drown.

His hand has fully grasped mine now, and it's soft and gentle. And warm. Simon is always so hot (metaphorically and quite literally).

"Baz..." he says, again. He's searching my eyes, my grey reaches. For what, I don't know. And… could he possibly be looking at my lips? Aleister Crowley, could he?

"Baz what… what do you want?" Snow whispers.

Now it's my turn to swallow, and I finally start to feel the nervous lump sink from my throat. But butterflies take its place, and my stomach clenches into knots. I think I'll kiss him. I want to, I fucking need to. I need to leave before I do.

"Simon..." I say, and I can't help but let my eyes trail down to look at his soft, warm lips again. I find myself biting mine.

I could do it, I could bloody well do it. Then set myself alight.

Snow notices, and he sighs. Just as I think he'll look at me in disgust, pummel me to a pulp (he's weaker than me, but in my current emotional state, he's stronger than me) or damn well go off in that moment...

He smiles, his eyes soft and gentle. His smile reaches them.

"All you had to do was ask..." he breathes.

  
And then _he_ kisses _me._

Crowley, I'm living a charmed life

* * *


End file.
